How To Choose Your College Best Friends

How To Choose Your College Best Friends

Fair warning: this is one of my quarterly “blogger-y blogs.” It’s long and a little bit more done than I normally like to do, but I think I maybe said something new or cool here.

I think everyone in my generation knows that it can be far too easy to consume in excess– fast fashion and fast food, particularly– but increasingly I’m noticing fast friends, a flavor-of-the-week phenomenon based upon mutual boyfriends or compatible Instagram angles. It can be easy to write these friendships off as adventures or merely being social, but increasingly they are replacing friendships of substance based on shared values.

As I get older, my friends don’t play on the soccer team with me or dance at the same studio. We often aren’t in the same classes and our parents don’t know each other. What holds us together aren’t common interests or obligations, but an understanding that we value the same things. Our majors, hometowns, and personal styles make up who we are, but what is more important is what we are about. 

Momento Mori is the motto of the school in A Series of Unfortunate Events. It means “Remember you will die,” which used to freak me out, but now has become one of my personal mottos.

Friend: Dude, you’re wearing a yellow shirt and red shorts…

Me: Everyone dies someday.

This is not as depressing as it seems. Imagine being freed of everything embarrassing you’ve ever done. That time you used the boys’ bathroom in the fourth grade– gone. When you had braces– gone. One day, all these things will disappear, because you– and everyone else who could have witnessed it– will die. Our embarrassments are temporary, our worries are temporary, our bad outfits are very, very temporary. Instagram is on the internet (home of screenshots and databases) and it is still only as lasting as the collective whims and tastes of the youth. Only one thing lasts: your legacy. The values you carried, the morals you lived by, the work you did: these are the things that are lasting, meaningful, and memorable. When you are dead– when everyone who knew you is dead– who you were will not matter, but what you were about will.

I learned everything about what I’m about from my father, one of the coolest guys around and a friend I would like to have. These are Dan Anderson’s secrets to good living– the qualities I look for in myself in a friend.

  • Pet all dogs.
  • Be an encourager. Dan Anderson (hereby referred to as Danderson) isn’t afraid of a pre-game or post-game talk. He could often be found behind the goalie’s net yelling, “You’ll get ’em next time!” or “Keep your head up!” I never played goalie. This didn’t stop Danderson.
  • Hold on. My dad has had the same best friend since third grade. They still talk every week and can be found on a golf trip together or at each other’s milestone birthdays, telling crazy stories from growing up down the street to their college days. My dad doesn’t have a Facebook; in his words, “Anyone I wanted to keep up with, I did.” He’s been married to my mom for over 25 years– that’s holding on.
  • Laugh. In church, too. At yourself, too
  • Go the extra mile. Whether is was standing in line for an hour to buy out the store of dark chocolate-covered strawberries for Valentine’s Day or waking up every fall and winter Friday to make a pre-game breakfast for me (I was a cheerleader and had no measurable effect on the game), Danderson does not half-ass it. When my family delivers Thanksgiving turkeys to families in need, my dad ups our number each year and often stays to deliver the strays that no one else claimed.
  • Work hard. Do your homework first. Do your homework early. You never know when something fun will come up and you need to be ready.
  • Do the right thing, and when you mess up, admit it. My dad says sorry. My dad says, “I’m just learning, too.”

Living with permanence, like my dad does, requires selflessness, loyalty, and dedication. It requires self-evaluation, which isn’t comfortable. It requires depth. My dad has never gotten a like on Facebook or Instagram, he doesn’t follow the trends, and he doesn’t understand any music that came out after ’89, but he is someone I would count myself as lucky to have as a friend. We could all use more of them.

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“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.”

xo,

Megan

Pull It Together

Pull It Together

As I’ve written before, I am careening into adulthood like a car that wants to make a left turn and has totally misjudged the speed and distance of other vehicles.

I was particularly struck by my own impending adulthood today in several separate instances. I went on DegreeWorks, our system for planning your progress towards your degree, and realized that not only am I categorized as a Junior but also that it was going to be somewhat difficult to stretch my remaining class requirements over more than three semesters. I grabbed my laptop and made a long and loud inhaling sound, like the kind my mom makes when I make a risky driving maneuver (driving metaphors are all over this post today). Accordingly, I finalized my plans to double major and added a specialization, because there is no way I am ready for the adult world and I’m sure as hell not going a year early.

One of my friends, Emily Ferons, really has her life together (most of the time). Today, I was sitting on her bed, invading her personal space and generally making a nuisance of myself, as usual, when she told me she was applying for summer internships. I replied, “Emily!!!!!!!!! We! Just! Got! Back! To! School!!!!!!!” She looked up at me (not over her glasses but it would’ve been if she was wearing glasses. Same vibe) and then resumed her applying. It was terrifying. To combat the impending sense of doom I felt creeping in, I made a resume. Are any of my experiences particularly relevant to the jobs I will be pursing? No. Is it in the correct format? Yes. You win some, you lose some.

At heart, I’m just one of those guys who changes their major 5 times so they can stay in school for 8 years and graduate with a General Studies degree. Those are my people. I just accidentally get really motivated sometimes, like when I took all those AP classes in high school, which seemed like it was going to be really awesome– and it mostly was. I got to skip all the really boring and somewhat shoddy gen-eds, which was cool, but now I’m trying to find ways to prolong the good ole days before I let corporate America relentlessly juice me like a prune. This accidental motivation happens to me a lot, and I think it’s because I don’t tell myself no enough. I’m like an out of control child that no one is putting on a backpack/ leash. “I’m probably qualified to do everythiiiiinnnnnggg” would be the chorus to my personal anthem and the other lyrics would be, “Lawyer, realtor, professor, writer, politician, psychologist– I have no direction.” Notice I did not list songwriter. The only other people who are allowed to list that many things they want to do are six, and also probably just ate 30 Jolly Ranchers.

Right now I live in super adulthood purgatory, where everything I buy is pink and I haven’t prepared a meal for myself in six weeks and we have security guards downstairs at night. I don’t know how our ancestors did it. At my age, they hunted and gathered and farmed and whatever and I made a trip to Jimmy John’s the other day, which is a block over (I took my car), and felt personally stressed and relieved when it was over. These are not the emotions of someone who could possibly graduate next year. And yet, I’m not even the most infantile person I know. Which is concerning. We should be SO concerned about that. I should be in the like second percentile of adulthood traits for my age. That would be comforting, not for me personally, but for humanity and the future of society. This is me, the perennial benchwarmer of the team in the race to adulthood, heckling my teammates loudly from the bench: pull it together.

I promise to never leave you hanging for a month again xoxo,

Megan

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